Der Erste Stern
by YoBeezy
Summary: Italy struggles with his inability to let go of the past, accept the future, and for once be strong enough as a country to take care of his closest and most precious ally. A doujinshi adaptation.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **'Hetalia' is copyright to creator Hidekaz Himaruya and 'Der Erste Stern' is copyright to creator Prinz/Yori. I do not own nor profit from this work of fiction or other.

'Der Erste Stern' is my favorite GerIta doujin and just for fun I wanted to right an adaption to it in my own style of writing. Only country names will be used as that's an important part of the story. And if I get readers who have not read this doujin, I highly recommend you do so, it is so worth it. There will be four chapters, one for each book. Also, in case it wasn't clear, anything in italics is a thought or a flashback/memory. It won't be hard to figure out which. And each time change and scene change is denoted with a line break. With that being said, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter One.

* * *

A small boy garbed in a little girl's dress stood outside under a darkened sky. His eyes were drawn upwards and if anyone were to see him then, they would only assume he was studying the stars that were blanketed above him. But it wasn't what he saw, rather than what he was thinking, and those were drifting in a much more distant spot than where he stood.

He was fondly recalling the warm caress of the summer sunshine through his clothes, the sound the brush from his broom made against uneven stone tiles, and the billowing of a small, dark coat caught in a breeze.

_"I love pasta," the young boy would sing to himself as he cleaned. "And sweets and music and drawings and...and..."_

He would never forget these things. Not the way the long grass touched at his legs nor the way a young boy's hand felt secured in his own.

_"...and Holy Roman Empire!"_

"Huh?" Italy was pulled from his thoughts suddenly, as if that name alone had shaken him from whatever memory he had been losing himself in. The young boy blinked and looked up, there was nothing but the endless darkness above him, but what had he expected really, there was never anything there he really cared about.

"You'll get cold standing out here Italy," a kind voice spoke from behind him and Italy spun around, a wave of surprise flooding him.

"Oh! Mr. Austria..." the young boy flushed, wondering how long the man had been standing in the doorway watching him.

"Hurry and come inside," Austria stepped aside invitingly but Italy found it difficult to move. He shifted awkwardly and looked down, searching for the right words.

"...Mr. Austria?" Italy tilted his head back up, his eyes nervously fleeting between Austria's own slightly curious gaze. "When is Holy Roman Empire coming back?" His question was met with a surprised kind of silence and a wave of emotion suddenly bloomed in the boy's chest. Blinking away the small tears that had welled in the corners of his eyes and trying to stop his hands from shaking as he pulled and bunched up the front of his apron, he felt his words surge inside of him recklessly. He knew that if he didn't let it out now, they'd only force themselves up eventually. "Both you and Ms. Hungary are still around, so why do I feel so lonely?"

"Oh, Italy..." A strange look of pity flashed across the man's face and momentarily, he bent his head as if to gather his thoughts. "Do you know about the fate of countries?" He finally asked, crouching down so that he could be on eye level with the child. Italy gave a small shake to his head. "Weak countries are taken over by strong ones, superior countries expand, and countries that lose sight of themselves will sooner or later cease to exist. He goes through much sadness fighting to protect us...and Holy Roman Empire...well, even now he is fighting as a country." Austria placed a gentle hand on Italy's shoulder, "you have to trust that he'll return to your side eventually. Believe it..."

* * *

"I can see so many stars tonight!" Italy exclaimed from where he lay in the grass. He grinned, catching each winking light with a glimpse. It was so big, not a night went by where he didn't leave still impressed by its size. Italy took a deep breath of the cold air and then released it in one big exhale. The frosted plume of his breath drifted upwards and disappeared, but still he reached a hand up as if he were going to bring it back. His eyes drifted over to his arm, a strange pale mark against the night sky, and his smile faltered at the sight. "I really went and did it, didn't I?" He said to himself, studying the bandages he had tried to wrap his wounds in. His fingers stiffly stowed away into the palm of his hand and he took his arm back down with a deep sigh. "It's boring without Germany around," Italy shut his eyes and regained his smile. "I wonder if he'll be back soon."

To his right came the sudden mewl of a cat and Italy snapped his eyes open at the sound and sat up.

"Oh, hello!" He beamed. "Are you alone?" The thin white cat tilted its head and meowed once again. "Come here," Italy said, extending out a wrapped hand. "I don't know but I've been feeling lonely today...will you stay with me?" The cat sauntered forward, bending its head and allowing Italy to rub his fingers up against the soft fur of the cat's scruff. "There, there," he cooed. "Good boy." Italy rubbed his hand down the cat's back, but then, without warning, the cat stilled, cocked its head and took off in the opposite direction. "Ah!" Italy withdrew his hand. "Wait up!" He bent down on his knee to stand and then caught sight of a pair of dark, shiny boots only a few feet before him.

Italy looked up, his eyes wide and surprised as he took in the height of the blonde man that stood before him. A sudden wide smile replaced the shock upon his face and he darted upwards. "Germany!"

"Italy?" The uniformed blonde asked under his breath. He had no time to prepare for impact as Italy threw his arms forward and around Germany's shoulders. "Germany! Germany! I was waiting for you!" He nuzzled his face into the taller man's chest and grinned. "Welcome home!"

Germany suddenly grabbed Italy by his shoulders and pushed away, letting his bright eyes wander over Italy with a deep concerned look scored into his features. "What happened to you?" Germany asked as his fingers trailed the length of the boy's arms, running over the overlapping bandages that wound themselves nearly up to his shoulders. Even his chest, exposed under the coat that was unbuttoned and hanging from his thin shoulders, had length of white material tight and bound around it. "You're covered in wounds!"

Italy shrank back slightly "I..." he hesitated before smiling brightly and bringing his hand up in salute. "I failed at skirt chasing, it was a massive defeat!" The doubting look on Germany's face didn't budge. "Kidding, kidding," Italy laughed, dropping his hand back at his side. "I protected your house while you were away actually."

"Wh..." Germany seemed at a sudden loss for words and finally, with his eyes narrowed in confusion, he sputtered out, "why didn't you call for backup?! You always call me, even if it's just to tie up your shoes, so why not now?!"

Italy glanced away, a foreign look gracing his young features that didn't quite seem to suit him. "I wanted to be useful to you at least once..." he brought his hands up to his face and a small smile touched at his lips. "Besides, these injuries are nothing compared to the ones you always get looking after me." His hands fell again and he stole a look at the wide sky once again. He never really noticed but always being under such a vast space can really make one feel small and kind of insignificant. It bothered him a little bit.

Germany shifted, sensing that something was amiss. "What's happened? You're acting strange today."

Italy laughed, "Maybe I am..."

Germany cleared his throat and looked down, grabbing Italy's hand. "For now at least, let's go back to my place." He looked forward with a subtle intensity and pulled Italy along as he took long, strong strides across the grass. "Your bandages aren't done properly, it's annoying me." Italy stumbled forward, his mind racing. The way Germany's hand felt in his, warm and secure, it reminded him so much of those days...

* * *

"There they are!" A young Italy called out to the night sky, his hands waving around him. "The stars are so pretty..." his eyes darted back and forth, taking it all in when a sudden sound behind him brought him out of his momentary trance. He spun around and shrunk down, "wh-who's there?" He whispered to the bush behind him. A rustle came and then suddenly, a boy only a little older than himself, stood up. Even in the night, Italy could tell the boy was blushing. "Oh, Holy Roman Empire!" The blonde boy looked down at the ground before pushing a white, steaming cup forward.

"Here," he said quietly, not meeting Italy's eyes. "You must be cold."

"Eh," Italy took a gentle step forward and took the cup from the boy's hands. "Th-thank you. It's lovely and warm." A pair of bright blue eyes darted forward, staring intently as he watched Italy bring the cup to his mouth. When he realized he was staring he looked away momentarily and softened his gaze. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking at the stars," Italy replied, bring his head back up.

"Do you like doing that?" Holy Roman Empire asked softly.

Italy's smile widened. "Yes, they're very pretty." His eyes widened as he trailed the length of a star that was falling across the sky. "Hey," he said suddenly, "you know, if you make a wish on a shooting star, it'll come true."

Holy Roman Empire's narrowed his eyes and his mouth upturned slightly. "Only little kids believe that-"

"I wish I could eat delicious pasta, I wish I could eat delicious pasta..." Holy Roman Empire clenched his mouth shut as he watched Italy recite over and over the silly wish. "I wish I could eat delicious pasta," he repeated. Italy opened his eyes and smiled, turning suddenly to the boy next to him. "You try wishing too! Oh..." Italy took a sudden step forward. "Your face is red. Are you cold?"

"It's okay," Holy Roman Empire said immediately, stiffening as Italy took another small step forward. He opened his mouth to speak but was quickly silenced when a small hand was placed gently against his cheek.

"Is that warm?" Italy asked as he spread his fingers against the boy's skin. A sudden look of panic swept over the blonde boy and he stumbled back. He shut his eyes and darted back through the bush. Italy frowned and brought his hand back to his cup. "Holy Roman Empire..." Italy sighed, staring at the spot the blonde boy had stood only moments before. He looked into his cup and smiled slightly. He was kind of used to this.

When Holy Roman Empire came running back into the house, he was flushed with the warm comfort of the lit fireplace. He placed a hand to his heart and shut his eyes, trying to figure out if it had been the running or the warm touch of Italy's hand that was making his heart beat the way it was. A small nervous smile fluttered to his lips and he turned towards the window next to him. His small hands braced themselves against the sill and he leaned forward, looking up at the sky for the sign of another shooting star. When his eyes caught the tail of a trailing light, he shut his eyes and whispered intently to himself, "I wish Italy and I could be even closer... I wish Italy and I could be even closer..."

The next day as Italy was doing his chores, he sang to himself with a cheerful smile. He spun his mop around the puddle on the floor until something caught his eye. "Pasta!" Italy dropped his mop and ran over to the plate of food on the floor. His stomach growled and he eagerly dropped down to pick it up. He spun the fork and placed it in his mouth before a queasy look crossed his face. "Gross..." A noise turned him around and he quickly swallowed the mouthful before looking up at the boy in the black coat. "Holy Roman Empire...did you leave this for me?"

The boy gave a small nod and Italy pulled the plate in closer to himself. "Thank you," he said sincerely, feeling almost guilty for having not liked it. Holy Roman Empire's eyes widened and he took a step back, nodding nervously, he spun around and hastily walked back the other way.

Holy Roman Empire squeezed the cuffs of his coat between his fingers as he tread quickly out the front door. He hated to imagine what he looked like to Italy, a nervous mess always running away, but he couldn't help it really. His chest would most likely burst if he didn't get the space he needed. The boy glided down the steps and crossed the courtyard until he reached the edge of the lot where the trees ran together and wildflowers bloomed in clusters, a place far away enough where he could breath. Disappointed, he looked up at the clouds above him, his breath heavy and his eyes instead. "Your wish will come true, huh?" He said to himself sharply. His glare sharpened and he looked back at the house. For all he knew, Italy only thought worse of him now.

* * *

"Wow, amazing!" Italy beamed down at Germany who was kneeling down in front of him. "You're so good at bandaging!" Germany sighed and glanced up with a flat look.

"This is just normal." He continued on for a couple minutes more before he stopped and let his hands fall slightly. "Italy?"

"Hm?" The boy asked. Germany kept his eyes to the bandages, his face a serious mask of a lot of hard to read emotions.

"Well...thank you for protecting my house."

Italy's eyes grew wide and he suddenly laughed, delighted at the sound of those small yet powerful words. Whatever feeling had been lingering in his chest all day slowly began to shrink away. "It was nothing!" He said lightly. "I think this might be the first time you've thanked me!" Germany never thanked him because Italy hardly ever did anything worth thanking, and he knew it, but he couldn't help exclaiming over it regardless. "Germany, Germany, was I a good boy? Did I do right?"

"Ah," Germany studied Italy for a small second. "Yeah, you did."

Italy brought his free hand up, feeling like every wound was worth this single moment. "Kiss me! Hug me!" He laughed.

"Don't get carried away!" Germany barked, he shook his head and held out his hand. "Give me your other arm." Italy did as he was told and watched intently as Germany worked his steady fingers over and around the bandages. The blonde man was so focused with those cerulean eyes of his always so serious and determined. It was a look that Germany often wore, like a default expression, but something about this night in particular seemed so strikingly familiar. Italy looked away, that lonely feeling seemed to be returning.

"Hey Germany?"

"Yes?"

"When did you fall in love for the first time?" Germany took a sharp breath in before quirking his brows at the wispy haired boy.

"What's with this sudden questioning?"

"I want to know more about you," Italy replied. When he saw that Germany didn't look like he was going to answer, Italy pressed on. "Hey, hey, please tell me."

Germany let his eyes fall slightly, "I don't really remember much of the past."

"Really?" Italy responded. He sat back and thought to himself, _that's a pity_. He had been half expecting something of interest.

"Do you remember, Italy?" Germany asked suddenly.

"Me?" Italy eased into a single memory, a single image of a single person and his eyes shadowed over. "I..." The boy blinked, shaking the image from his mind. He looked over at Germany's calm expression. _That takes me back, they're the same color as that boy's..._ Italy reached a hand out and gently touched Germany's face and he leaned forward, pressing his lips lightly against Germany's forehead. He pulled back and let his head fall against Germany's shoulder. "I remember. I haven't forgotten anything. But I haven't seen him in a long, long time." His bandaged hand reached back up and clung to Germany's shirt. "I'm scared I'll forget..."

"Italy..." Germany looked down at the boy's head, his expression soft.

"Grandpa Rome, that boy..." Italy continued. "Everyone I loved disappeared." Italy suddenly pulled back and he looked intently into Germany's face, searching for something. "I get so worried whenever you're away. As soon as you leave I'm wondering if you'll ever come back. What would I do if you never came back? Eating pizza and wurst together, training together, playing together...sleeping together." His amber eyes dropped. "We wouldn't be able to do those things anymore. I'd really hate that."

_"Holy Roman Empire...you're really going..." a young Italy watched that black coat ride on the breeze. "You have to come back, okay?" He called out to the boy ahead of him, he took a few nervous steps forward and wrapped his fingers around his apron. "You promised!"_

"I don't want the people I love to disappear anymore." Italy took a deep breath in and looked up at Germany before tilting his brows and throwing himself forward. His arms wrapped tightly around Germany's neck and he let his head fall into the crook of the blond man's neck. "You're my most precious friend Germany, I don't want you to go away!"

"Italy..." Germany closed his eyes before pulling away. "Wait!" He waved his hand in front of Italy's face. "A-as if I'd go away! Firstly, you wouldn't even last three seconds without me around." A flustered sound left him and he stood up above Italy, passing down onto him a stern expression. "Listen up Italy, stop trying to change yourself and acting out of character. If you need help I want you to call me immediately! If something happens, come find me!" The blonde put a hand to his forehead in exasperation. "Seeing you all beat up like this...it's painful." Italy stumbled to find words. "I'd rather you call me than have to bandage you up later. Got it?"

Italy let a smile grace him as he saluted, "yes sir!" Feeling satisfied, Germany nodded and then spun his finger around in a small circle.

"Okay, now come on, turn around, your back's hurt too."

"Ah! Ow!" Italy cried out as Germany's strong hands touched at his back bandages. "It hurts! It hurts, stop!"

"Don't make such weird noises!" Germany snapped back.

"Oh, but it hurts when you tie the bandages up," Italy whined as he lay on the bed. He stole a quick glance at the man above him and unwillingly let out a small laugh.

Germany frowned, "what's so funny?" He asked impatiently.

"I'm just really happy!" Italy put his head back onto his folded arms and relaxed as Germany continued to bandage him. "I got a lot of injuries and I'm really hurting, but I protected your house. These wounds are proof of my manliness."

"Yes, yes," Germany mumbled as if he had stopped paying attention to the conversation a few words back.

"Hey Germany," The younger boy ignored the half-hearted response. "If you were in my position, what would you have done?"

"Pardon?" The blonde asked as if to verify that he hadn't been listening entirely.

"I mean," Italy said, turning back to look up him. "Would you call me if you were in trouble? Even though I might be useless," he said it with such nonchalance that Germany blanched. "Would you ask me for help?"

Knowing what he wanted to hear, Germany sighed. "Ah...yeah." Apparently the answer was good enough for Italy beamed and contently closed his eyes.

"That means that you need me too!" While Italy relished in these words, Germany tied off the last bandage and stepped back.

"Okay, all done"

"Thank you!" Italy sat up sorely.

Germany looked up, waiting for Italy to say something else before he started putting away his supplies. "...Off you go. It's already late, get home." Italy suddenly touched at his stomach with a pathetic kind of expression.

"I'm hungry and I'm thirsty, I want to stay at your house." Germany gave a flat kind of look before closing his bag and shaking his head.

"If that's what you want..." He turned back to his med bag at the same time Italy flung himself off the bed and over to the window. The boy put his palms flat against the pane and stared in awe.

"Look, look! A falling star!" He watched it fall farther and farther over the horizon. "It'll grant your wishes! Ask it for something Germany!"

"Only children believe that..." he said offhandedly from the other side of the room.

"I wish I could eat delicious pasta...I wish I could eat delicious pasta, I wish I could eat delicious gelato, and I wish I could pick up girls!" Germany turned around and stared at the boy, trying to imagine just how Italy had managed to protect his house while he had been gone. "Um, and then, and then," Italy closed his eyes tightly. "I wish Germany and I can always be friends. I hope we can always be close." The blonde's expression softened as he took in each word. "I hope I can be with Germany forever and ever..." Italy turned away from the window and smiled.

_"I love you Italy."_

The boy blinked over at Germany who was still watching him silently, his expression fell and the smile that was on his face seemed to fall ever so slightly. _I want to tell Germany I love him as much as that child told me he loved me..._ Italy needed away from these thoughts, so he pushed the smile higher up his face. Germany took a step closer and looked down on the younger boy with a studious look.

"Forget wishing about, if I'm not around you'll get in trouble, I wouldn't be able to sleep." Germany said blankly.

"Really?" Italy was pulled once again between these mixed emotion. "Then you'll always be my friend?"

"Yes," he answered with a long sigh, he stepped away and rubbed a hand through his platinum hair. "Okay, have something to eat and go straight to bed."

"Wait!" Germany halted and looked over his shoulder at the smaller boy. "Thank you Germany! Friendship kiss!"

"What?! What's that?" Italy raised his eyebrows and stepped closer sweetly.

"Come on, just do it!" Germany stared for a small second before scoffing and turning back around.

"That's enough with the teasing. I'm going to make some food," he waved a hand over his head as he left the room. "Rest there for now!" Italy watched him leave and then with a sigh, sat back down on the bed and pulled his coat in closer.

He shut his eyes and leaned back until his sore back hit the bed and he let out a small, strangled breath.

_That boy told me he'd always loved me since the 900's... the seventeenth century came...then the eighteenth...and the nineteenth...but he never returned. You liar. _Italy rolled over and pulled the blanket up clumsily around his shoulders.

_Hey, Holy Roman Empire. I still haven't said my parting words to you. Not goodbye, I want to say please come home soon instead._


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** 'Hetalia' is copyright to creator Hidekaz Himaruya and 'Der Erste Stern' is copyright to creator Prinz/Yori. I do not own nor profit from this work of fiction or other.

An adaption of book II.

* * *

Chapter Two.

* * *

_"Italy..." The young man stopped in his step. He turned around slowly, finding himself in an endless meadow. The wind was heavy but it didn't touch him the way it rattled the field. He looked ahead of him and his knees weakened. Across from him stood a young boy, his eyes were shut and he was smiling, nearly next to laughing._

_"Holy Roman Empire..."_

The dream was torn from Italy as his eyes snapped open fearfully. Tears had welled up and he quickly rubbed them away as he sat up in bed. He heard a small noise to his left and he looked over, nearly surprised to find Germany asleep in bed next to him. "Oh yeah, he bandaged my injuries...I had something to eat and then slept over at Germany's..." Italy reached a slender hand out. "Germany?" He gently touched Germany's cheek. "Are you asleep?" The soft rise of the blonde's breath answered that for him and Italy withdrew his hand. He watched Germany sleep for a minute before he quietly pulled himself out of bed. Pulling his pants from the floor, he buckled them and then walked over to the coat rack where he pulled down Germany's coat from the knotch it hung from. Slowly, he pulled it to his face and inhaled, taking in the smell he could recall from every embrace and night he'd been able to steal. Italy lowered the coat and then swung it around his shoulders. He took one last look over at Germany before opening the door and leaving.

"Huh," Italy said to himself as he walked through the long grass that stretched for what seemed like miles outside of Germany's house. "Why did I come outside? It's cold..." he wrapped an arm around himself. "And I'm in a lot of pain!" He let out a small humorless laugh and looked upwards. The night seemed so much blacker now. He reached a hand upwards slowly, extending each of his stiff fingers. _It's okay, I can keep smiling...but why is it my heart's so lonely..._

"Holy Roman Empire! Holy Roman Empire!" Italy stilled. He looked over to the source of the small voices and his eyes widened. He was staring at himself, at the small boy dressed up in a girl's dress. The child's hands were rubbing at his eyes as he cried out that name. Italy stepped closer to the child as once again he repeated that name.

"No..." Italy said. The child looked up at him through raw eyes and frowned. "He's Germany. He's not that boy, that boy's gone." Italy smiled and the child placed his hands in front of him, carefully taking in each word. "He doesn't remember a single thing, that's why he's not him. It can't be helped," the young man said matter of factly. "These memories can't be brought back so easily, the time we had together wasn't short...but I think about it, my memories won't disappear." Italy turned away from the child and brought his hands into his chest, he took a deep breath and watched as his breath formed like smoke in the cold night air. "What would I do if I was just using Germany as a replacement...and I didn't really love him?" He was talking to himself now and the words he spoke shook him in an untouched place. "I really like Germany, but is it really Germany I like? Back then, when I first met Germany, we were at war and I was scared, I was alone and things were hard...I ran away and hid in pitch black." He recalled that box, hard and empty where he thought he'd go uncovered. But when the lid gave way and what stood there looking down at him was an image so striking it had initially given him joy, "I was so surprised." Italy turned to look back at the child. "He had the same color hair and eyes as that boy! I was scared at first, but it was like talking with that boy again. I was so happy." The young Italy tilted his head and blinked.

"...I still love Holy Roman Empire?" He asked quietly.

Italy was momentarily taken aback before he smiled and laughed. "I do. I've always loved him."

"If you could see him again, would you want to?" The boy asked. His tone was so soft, so unknowing, it tore wider a hole that had long been sitting in Italy's chest. His hand flew to his mouth and he shut his eyes.

"I would..." Italy choked back a sob. "I miss him so much..."

"I know," young Italy replied quietly.

Italy felt such a deep pain resonating within him, he cradled himself and bent over, he couldn't seem to stop himself now that he'd fallen so deep into these memories. "I know we'll never meet again, but I want to see him, just one more time." He pictured that young boy in his mind. Standing there like he was in his dream, a smile on his face and his eyes closed and happy. A face he knew he'd never see again. "He was the first person to ever tell me he loved me!" Italy cried out, he fell to his knees and looked up at the sky. He couldn't hold his anguish in any longer...he couldn't keep smiling like this. In the tall grass, he held himself and simply cried.

Across the way, two people walked quietly. A low mumble of conversation was exchanged between them. Spain looked over at Romano and the latter studied the ground intently until a sound stole his attention upwards. Romano looked over to the other side of the fence and saw a figure standing there with his head held back, making a sound Romano knew far too well. "Veneciano!"

* * *

War was difficult.

Holy Roman Empire sat in his tent with a few other men, preparing for a night scouting. "What's that? One man asked as he sat behind the small blonde boy.

"A painting of a servant," another man answered.

"Leave it behind, it's too bulky."

"Sh-shut up!" Holy Roman Empire snapped back, he looked down at the painting in his hands of Italy, sleeping on the seat of a chair. He didn't want to leave it. It had only been a few months since he'd left Italy, but still, it seemed like centuries had passed him by.

"It's time to go," the man urged again. Despite the feeling in the pit of his stomach, Holy Roman Empire left the picture behind as he headed out into the night.

A storm was heading there way, as it was they had only been on grounds for six hours when the rain began to lightly fall. Day break was hovering above them, though it didn't touch the blanket of dreary gray clouds the drifted somberly above them. Holy Roman Empire was fighting the fatigue, as were all his men were, but he found a new energy as a man in the front line called out, 'fire!'

"The enemy set it on fire!" Holy Roman Empire looked up in terror as the men began running back towards the base. He ran forward with them and his stomach dropped. He could see smoke and the fire and the dancing embers caught in the air. Wide eyed, he lurched forward, though a pair of arms quickly grabbed him and wrapped around his waist. "Italy!" Holy Roman Empire struggled against the grip, it was next to useless.

"Stop! If you go in there now you'll die!"

"Italy's picture is in there!" Holy Roman Empire yelled back, his small hands pried at the arms around him.

"Is it more important than your life?!"

He didn't mean to show it, but he couldn't help it. Tears streamed down his face and he reached out, "of course it is!" He clenched at his coat and tried to force his way out again. "She gives meaning to my life! She's the reason I'm fighting!" The arms gave way and the young boy stumbled forward, quickly gaining his footing again he rushed forward. "Italy!"

He ignored the shouts of his men behind him. But it was useless anyways, he was too late. He came to a staggering halt in front of the fire. It blazed up in front of him, taking with it in its fury the contents of the tent. There was no way into it now. But he would still try. As he made to force his way in to the tent, a hand wrapped around his coat and pulled him back. The clap of thunder overshadowed his yelling as he was forced back by two men into retreat.

The rain fell with a determined force that day. The army had retreated back into the treeline where they sought temporary shelter from the storm. The enemy was no where to be seen and there would be no ground to cover in this rain. An hour passed until the young boy stood up. His face was a mask of despair, his eyes low and his mouth an unguarded frown. No one stopped him as he took a few weak steps forward, but they all watched him as he stepped out through the trees and into the rain. Holy Roman Empire stumbled over to the base, over to the smoldering mess of his tent. His hair was matted down to his face and the water in his eyes kept trying to blind him, but it didn't stop him. He bent over brushing away at the wet piles of ash, through burned wood stakes and fabric until his fingers touched at the remains of a canvas. He pulled it out, running his hand over the charred surface. His painting, it was ruined. In the haze of ash and char, he could make out the small image of Italy. His Italy. And even though the rain only seemed to fall harder, he held the picture to his chest and refused to let it go again.

* * *

"I'm sorry for bothering the two of you," Italy said quietly while staring into a cup of coffee.

"Don't worry about it," Spain said lightly, he smiled and looked over towards the bedroom door. "Although Romano got himself all worked up and angry and finally fell asleep. But more importantly, why were you crying?" He looked over at the youngest brother and his eyebrows pulled together. "And you're all beat up... come on, tell me what happened."

Italy met Spain's soft green gaze and shrugged. "I protected Germany's house."

"Really?!"

"Yeah," Italy smiled at Spain's reaction, he had surprised him too apparently. "Though I don't understand it myself. Somehow I fought them off. I don't remember it too well..." Italy blinked in thought and then looked away. "What if everything I ever did by myself came to nothing? I always worry about that." Spain regarded his words quietly until Italy turned once more to him with a soft expression. "Do you love my brother Spain?"

Spain didn't hesitate to answer. "Yeah," he said happily, a very sweet expression lingering. Italy was slightly taken aback.

"And me? Do you love me too?" Italy asked, noticing how Spain's expression changed ever so slightly.

"Of course," and he laughed lightly. Spain brought his hand up to rest on his cheek and a distant look in his eyes revealed itself. Italy watched him carefully and then smiled to himself. _He's not thinking of me, his eyes are full of love for my brother. His love's the real deal..._

"No," Italy finally said. Spain looked up at him and quirked his head but before he could question Italy stood up. "I'm going to bed, thanks for lending me bedding."

"Ah!" Spain stood up hastily and raised his hand. "Don't wake Romano up, he'll just get worked up again!"

"Okay," Italy responded. "Good night." Italy stepped down the hall, towards his brother's room and looked in. He made to keep walking but was quickly halted as he stared into the empty bedroom. "...Brother?"

* * *

Germany stirred in his sleep, he was cold. Slowly, he opened his eyes and rolled over, "Italy?" But the bed was empty. "Did he go home?" Germany asked himself as he surveyed the spot where Italy usually slept. A faint disappointment echoed in his words and he slunk back against his pillow.

"Hey! Potato bastard!" Germany tore his attention back to the doorway where a very familiar face stood glaring at him. "What are you doing here?"

"You! Italy's brother..." The blonde knitted his brows together as Romano stomped closer, he lurched forward and wrapped a fist around Germany's shirt. He didn't fight the aggressive behavior.

"What did you do to my brother?" Romano yelled, shaking him slightly.

Germany looked down with a quizzical expression before muttering a small, "what?"

"I asked what you did to him! It's cold out but he was just standing there, a total wreck, crying! His body's covered in wounds and he won't answer my questions-"

"Brother!" Both Germany and Romano turned towards the source of the voice, facing a very worried looking Italy. He was shaking from the cold and out of breath.

"Italy..." Germany spoke, looking over the young boy with an unreadable expression. How had he not been there for that? The younger brother rushed forward and wrapped his arms under Romano's, pulling him away.

"Stop it brother! Germany didn't do anything wrong! He dressed my wounds and made me food." Italy pleaded. Romano struggled and then turned his head back angrily.

"It's his fault for leaving his house open!"

"Brother!" Italy's voice rose, something that didn't happen often and Romano momentarily stilled as Italy released his grip. "Don't say any more bad things about Germany...Or I'll call big brother Spain." Romano spin around, a wicked look on his face.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Romano yelled back, almost entirely forgetting his rage towards Germany. "I was worried about you!"

"Don't worry about me!" Italy yelled back. Germany came up behind Italy and took Italy's raised hand by the wrist.

"Hey, stop it you two-"

"Let go of me Germany!" Italy couldn't handle this anymore, he was past the point now in the night where he could hold anymore in. Romano stepped forward, preparing to spit out another comeback when a soft yet stern voice called from the door frame.

"Romano," Spain had a serious look on his face. He stood there with his arms by his side, his gaze staring into Romano's own fiery expression.

"It wasn't me," he responded defiantly.

"Stop it," Spain said again in that same tone. "Italy has times he wants to be serious too." Romano stilled at these words, his face resonating something that looked like denial and worry. "He has times when he needs to find out whether his feelings are the real things or not. To get proof he fought and got hurt, so when you speak badly of what he did of course he'll get angry!" Romano continued to glare, but he remained quiet. "Try to understand your little brother a bit more!" Spain took a step forward and held out his hand to the older brother. "We're going home now," his expression shifted over to Italy and he smiled his usual bright grin. "Italy, understand how you're feeling. Sorry for intruding!" Spain raised one hand in a wave and placed the other atop Romano's head, ignoring the string of swears that came from the boy's mouth, "sorry for intruding!" Spain didn't wait for a response as he grabbed Romano by the hand again and pulled him out through the door. As it slid shut, Italy stared at it quietly.

"What the hell was that..." Germany mused, glaring at the door. He quickly looked down at the worried looking boy and frowned. "Italy, you need to find something out?"

Quickly, Italy became flustered. "N-nothing!"

"It wasn't nothing," Germany said sternly.

"I said it's nothing!" Italy took the jacket from around his shoulders and held it up. "Oh! I came to give this back!" He pushed it into Germany's hand and then headed for door himself. "Sorry about taking it, see you!"

Germany looked at his coat and then looked up, "Hey!" He reached a hand out to stop the boy but Italy stepped through the door and shut it firmly behind him. "Italy!" Germany growled and stepped towards the door, grabbing the second jacket that hung there and with a flourish, followed Italy out. "Wait! Italy!"

"Germany..." Italy stalled and then turned around. Germany had his own coat around his shoulders but in his hands was Italy's own coat.

"You'll catch a cold dressed like that." He walked up to the smaller boy and then gently placed the coat around Italy's shoulders. "You forgot this." The boy cast his honey colored gaze up at the blonde man, a hint of sadness wavering behind his look. "You've been acting strange since yesterday. If you don't tell me what's going on I won't know how to act." Germany, for the first time since Italy could recall, looked genuinely concerned. Often times when Germany was worried, he always appeared to be angry, but not this time. His words were soft, as if he were making a good effort to comfort Italy by words alone. But somehow, it didn't seem to be working.

"You're nice Germany..." Italy turned slightly away. He didn't want to do this, but what choice did he have any longer? "I wonder if I can return that kindness. I'm scared it might just be a lie. I'm scared I might not have feelings for you." Germany stepped back, his eyes curiously searching the boy's face. A quick flash of concern touched him as he noticed he couldn't quite read Italy as easy as he had thought.

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly.

"I have memories inside me that won't disappear. They're painful and sad memories, and I'm scared I'll hurt you because of them."

"Italy..."

The boy turned away, he looked into the sky, slightly comforted not by the vastness that only a little while earlier had seemingly terrified him. "We make history as we live," he spoke carefully. "Time and time again we face things dying, being born, changing, being destroyed, prospering. We have to see so many painful things." Germany took a moment to take in Italy's words and then just as carefully he posed his own question.

"We can't be friends because of your past?"

"That's right," Italy said, turning towards him.

"That's not what I mean," Germany said, stronger this time. He straightened himself up and looked Italy on with that same look of careful study. "If something happened between us in your past, I wouldn't abandon you or hate you. Sure, there are a lot of horrible things that have happened all through history, but, you've got wonderful memories too right?"

Italy held his breath.

"Because you remember those things," Germany continued. "They don't disappear from history, you can look back on them and smile, right?" His words and eyes softened as he suddenly seemed interested in looking at the ground. "And besides, if you died...I'd be really sad." A hot flash of tears seemed to blind Italy as he stood there unmoving. He watched from what seemed like ten miles away as Germany smiled to himself knowingly. "When I look at you, somehow or other, I don't feel like we ever met for a first time. I feel like I've always known you." He gave a small laugh to himself. "You're hopeless. But I know you're honest and kind." Germany looked up and took a step closer to Italy, he was within arms reach and Italy felt back in his body as he was forced to look back into Germany's gentle gaze, despite the blurry hazy of tears between them. "When I met you I was able to fully trust in someone for the first time." And Italy was glad he couldn't look away, for when Germany smiled down at him it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. "Like a warmth or something, I'm not good with words but it's that kind of feeling. Perhaps we knew each other somewhere in the past. So, please keep being friends with me."

Italy stumbled forward, his hand reach out to grab at Germany's. The tears were streaming freely now and he couldn't contain himself, he had never felt this kind of intense emotion before. "Okay," Germany said quietly. "Stop that now." He reach a hand up to wipe away the tears still running down Italy's cheek. "You really are a cry baby." Italy closed his eyes and leaned forward, everything was turning dark. He didn't have a chance to speak before his weight collapsed into Germany's hands and Germany brought him in close, "Italy?!" He had fallen unconscious so fast, Germany laid him down in the grass and kneeled beside him. "Italy? What happened?!"

_"Italy!"_

Italy opened his eyes slowly, he stared at the ceiling curiously before his mind caught up with him. "This is..."

"You're awake?!" Italy looked down and saw Romano, his eyes were wide. Italy slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

"Brother?"

"Thank god!" Romano rushed forward and threw his arms around Italy's neck, pulling him in tight. "You pushed yourself too far," Romano said from the crook of Italy's neck. "Because of your injuries you got a fever, you've been out of it for three days, I thought you were done for. I was...worried." Italy suddenly pulled away, holding his brother by the shoulders.

"Where's Germany?!" He asked frantically. "I fainted while I was talking to Germany..."

"He," Romano looked down at the sheets of the hospital bed, "while you were out of it there was an attack, he's being treated now."

"...No way," Italy shrank back and blinked, then, his mouth tightened. "I'm going to see him."

"Stop," Romano said firmly, taking his brother's wrist tightly. "You're hurt worse than you think. You're not thinking straight."

"Let me see him!" Italy cried out, kicking from beneath his sheets and pulling to get out of Romano's grip. "Let me see him right now!"

"You're still recovering! You have to rest!" Romano glared at Italy, how returned the look. He stopped kicking for a moment before bending forward and biting down on Romano's hand as hard as he could. "Hey! Ow! What the hell are you doing, idiot?!" Romano tore his hand away, wrapping his fingers delicately around the bite. He spun around on the bed just in time to see Italy storming out of the hospital door. "Hey wait!"

But Italy didn't stop. He ran down the halls, looking through rooms until he broke through the front door into the court yard. "Germany!" He called out frantically, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Germany, where are you?!" He ran through the next wing, calling out his name and looking into every room until he came to a staggering halt.

His eyes widened and his hand flew to his chest.

_"Germany!"_


	3. Chapter Three

******Disclaimer: **'Hetalia' is copyright to creator Hidekaz Himaruya and 'Der Erste Stern' is copyright to creator Prinz/Yori. I do not own nor profit from this work of fiction or other.

An adaption of book III.

* * *

Chapter Three.

* * *

_"I want to draw you looking relaxed, don't be so stiff," Italy said happily as he repositioned his drawing pad in front of him. He sat cross-legged on the ground. Looking up, he noticed a still very stiff Germany staring at him from behind his desk. "Can't you focus on your work while I'm looking at you? Just pretend I'm not here."_

_"You make too much noise to pretend you're not here," Germany said flatly. Italy ignored him so he tried to further his defense. "Won't it be hard for you to draw if I move around?"_

_"Living things move around whenever they want, right?" Italy asked, "But you and I can communicate so I should be able to stop you moving when I need to. If I can't get my intentions across in words then by capturing you like this in a drawing, I should be able to express my feelings." He sketched out a few more lines and smiled. "I love you."_

_Germany leaned back and his face heated up with a scarlet flourish. "D-don't say such embarrassing things so lightly!"_

_"It's not a lie," Italy replied, tilting his head and sketching more. "I want to tell you my real feelings. That's how friends feel right?" With a sigh, the boy leaned back. "There are still a lot of things I don't know about you Germany. I want us to be closer, even by just a little." He looked away, troubled. "Hey, Germany...", the blonde only stared, feeling somewhat dispirited. "We have words, so why can't we get our feelings across in war? Everyone just wants to be happy." Italy put his pencil back into the cup by his side. "I hate fighting," he continued. "I don't really know why. Come to think of it, you fought against me too..."_

* * *

"What did you do," Spain said rather than asked as he gently wrapped Romano's hand. "I told you not to go that far to see him." Romano watched with careful disregard as Spain took care of him, much like he always had, he took it for granted most of the time.

"He's doing his own thing, I don't know whether you're strict or too easy going on Italy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spain asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. Romano looked away, a heavy feeling tightening around his chest.

"I never really know if he's suffering or what's going on. But if it's bad for him it's bad for me too. I wish I could understand him." Spain let his hand linger once he finished, but Romano took it back to survey the work.

"You're no different," Spain said arguably.

"Ours is a relationship built on control," he replied almost coldly. "Countries don't need feelings. It's all a question of what we can gain or lose from a situation." Romano looked past Spain, out through the window where a light breeze was carrying fallen leaves through the air. "The problem was that we have such an uncertain existence, we can't resolve the contradictions between our duties and fate as countries and our thoughts and ideas as individuals, it's a never ending conflict." He sighed and his hand dropped back to his lap. The worst part of saying these kind of things is the feelings it spurned within himself. He knew it was all true but still, he struggled with believing it himself. "We shouldn't want to feel. We shouldn't want to be conscious. Peace is nothing more than a flimsy desire and this unfair world wants to conform each of our ideas of peace."

Romano pictured his brother, so lost and naive. Why wouldn't he listen? He wouldn't ever get better like this...

Three days passed by quickly after the incident in the hospital and Italy found himself staying with his brother. It wasn't bad in speaking, but at that moment, for Italy, everything was bad. "Food's done," Romano said as he walked into Italy's room with a plate. He looked at the bed only to find it empty and his gaze trailed down to the wall next to him. "How long are you going to keep that up? You haven't eaten anything in three days." Italy sat on the ground, his knees pulled up and his head pulled down. "You're going to starve to death." When he got no reply he sighed. "I've brought some food out for you." He put the plate down on the floor next to his brother and turned to leave. Italy made no movement and Romano quietly left.

The door shut and Italy cradled himself closer. _I shouldn't need words or feelings or pain. I'm hungry, my five senses are fully alive..but...food that should taste good, eating it feels like choking down flavorless rope. Eating becomes passive, like torture or hallucinations._

He turned towards the plate and his stomach gave a tremendous growl. Slowly he reached over and took the plate. Every bite, he hated. His stomach hurt, aching for more, but he simply didn't want this. It was horrible.

It took a little while but soon Italy found himself feeling more lively. He had someone to care for now, it was only right that he should stop being so selfish. So he woke one day and got dressed and for the first time in what felt like ages, he left the house.

"Excuse me," Italy asked a street vendor. "Could I have a bouquet?"

"Do you have a date?" The man asked curiously, Italy shook his head.

"No, I'm going to visit a friend who got hurt."

The man stepped around his flowers to stand in front of Italy, his face pulled into a sincere look of concern. "That's unfortunate, how are they doing?"

"He's getting better, the doctor said he'll be able to go outside this week. He's like the biggest guy I know but he's still cute!" Italy laughed and as infectious as it usually was, the man across from him did too.

"He seems nice," the vendor said lightly. He reached over and picked a very full bouquet, one full of roses and artfully arranged. "It seems to me that this person is very dear to you." Italy was surprised, but somewhat pleased at the same time that someone else could see it so easily.

"Yes...he is..."

"I put in a little extra, I hope they like them."

"Grazie," Italy paid, leaving a small extra tip before leaving towards his final destination.

The hospital was normally a pleasant place. Trees lined the outside of it and everything was so immaculate and clean, it reminded him of a spa. Although, nothing inside of it reminded him of anything comforting. He walked the halls with his flowers held gingerly in front of him, his nerves were flaring and he struggled to swallow normally. When he arrived at the door he looking in through the glass window, Germany was still sleeping.

Quietly, he pressed in. There was a small stool by the bed where he presumed a nurse had been sitting previously. He took his seat and rested the bouquet in his lap, finally allowing his eyes to completely take in the damage. His head was bandaged, it wrapped around three times before coming down to completely cover his right eye, Italy didn't want to imagine how bad it looked under the wrappings. His face was pale, slightly battered and bruised, but for the most part he looked at peace as he slept. Every now and then he'd frown and moan as if the pain were touching him in his sleep but it wasn't very often. Most of the time he stayed absolutely still.

"Germany..." Italy smiled the best he could. "I'm sorry for leaving without saying anything before." He picked up the flowers as if to show him. "These are from a flower shop at my place. Aren't they pretty?" He opened his eyes and the flowers came to rest on his lap again. He couldn't look any longer. "Germany...I'm so weak, I'm always causing you trouble. I can't do anything right." He liked to imagine what things Germany would have said in return. Something short and to the point but ultimately it would have cheered him up. But there was nothing to be said this time. "All I do is give you bad memories. Get angry at me and tell me to pull myself together, tell me off...'even when you're alone'."

_I never realize until after I've lost them or it's come to nothing, but it just keeps on happening. When I feel like I've protected something, it turns out I can't protect anything._ Italy dropped the flowers on the floor and fell forward into the sheets, his hand crinkled the bed sheets and he tried his hardest not to cry too loud.

"If you wake I'll give you my best and brightest hello...so please, wake up..."

* * *

Hungary smoothed out her dress as Austria approached her. "Have you finished getting ready?" He asked, prim as always.

"Yes," she replied with her usual smile.

"Then, I'll leave the rest to you," Austria glanced down to the young boy near his side. "Be back by evening." He walked away, feeling incredibly awed. How he could not have known that Italy was a boy was beyond him, and now that he had come to realize the truth, Italy had to have a change in wardrobe.

"Excuse me, but where are we going?" Italy asked.

"We're going to buy you new clothes, Italy."

"New clothes for me? But...but can I still wear these clothes?" He picked up the hem of the apron and looked at it sadly. These clothes held a lot of memories for him and still...

"Those clothes are-" Hungary bit her lip and then resumed to beam, she placed a soft hand atop Italy's head. "We'll find you something that will look even better on you. So come on, let's go look for some new outfits together."

Italy always did like Mrs. Hungary. Growing up, she had always been the kind one to him, always watched out and treated him like she genuinely might have loved him. So he went, even though he didn't want to, he went and didn't say a word otherwise.

"That looks great on you," the shopkeeper exclaimed as Italy walked out in a new pair of boy's clothing. He didn't smile or look at himself in the mirror.

"They're not too small?" Hungary asked as she adjusted his collar. He replied unenthusiastically.

"These seem different to the clothes I normally wear," he said as he pulled at the vest uncomfortably. He couldn't breath in these.

"I guess you're right," Hungary laughed. "But these ones really suit you." She stood up and turned to the shopkeep, "he'll wear them home. You can dispose of those other clothes."

"Ah!" Italy jumped forward, his hand outstretched. "Please wait! Can I take them home with me?" Hungary looked troubled but she said nothing as Italy gingerly took the bag with his dress in it back.

The streets were crowded, as they were on most weekends. People were shopping, gossiping, eating or simply enjoying the nice weather. Every one except for Italy. "We're finished shopping," Hungary said, trying to make small conversation with the boy. "It's about time we go home." She looked down at the boy but he wasn't paying attention. Instead, his eyes were focused on the crowd, as if he expected to see someone he knew.

"Mrs. Hungary?" He finally said, pulling on her hand.

"Yes?"

"If Holy Roman Empire comes back, do you think he'll recognize me if I'm wearing these clothes and my voice has changed? Will he be able to recognize me at all?" His words seemed to stop Hungary short and she put her hand up to her mouth. An unwilling 'oh' left her and she knelt down, putting her hands on Italy's shoulder.

"Of course he will! You're you regardless of all the other things!" But these words didn't seem right either for the small boy burst into tears. He rubbed at his eyes and cried out.

"But I'm becoming less and less like me! My feet hurt and I'm hungry. So how much longer do I have to wait? He has to come home soon...I'm quickly becoming a different person to the one I was in those happy days. It feels like another me is taking over and sooner or later my memories will disappear too."

Hungary's hand slipped down his arm until she took his hand and he forced himself to look at her. She was such a pretty woman. Her eyes always did resonate a look that said she cared. She loved him, even though she hardly ever said it, she loved him a lot. "You're not the only one growing up," she reminded him softly. "He'll have changed too, right? I have too, and Mr. Austria. You can't stay the same forever. You lose a lot of things as you grow up, but you gain a lot of things too! It's a big part of living." Italy stopped crying, he certainly hadn't thought about it like that and strangely enough, he felt the fear residing. "I wonder," Hungary mused. "If you'll be able to welcome him back properly. Do you you think you could take one look at grown-up Holy Roman Empire and know it was him?" She laughed and it sent a wave of warmth through the young boy. "It'll be alright, Holy Roman Empire is Holy Roman Empire. Same as you," she lightly poked his stomach, managing to get a small laugh out of him. "Even if time passes."

Italy nodded and Hungary stood, she looked down on him feeling a strong sense of pride flowing through her. He was a strong boy, but sooner or later he would come to understand what it meant to be a country. She only hoped he could stay so beyond understanding for just a little while longer.

"Welcome home," Austria greeted as Hungary strolled into the parlor. "How did it go?"

"Oh! We bought some lovely clothes!"

"Where's Italy?"

"Putting the luggage we bought into the storehouse." Austria nodded and made to turn away but the small touch of Hungary's slender fingers stopped him. "Um, Mr. Austria?" She flushed but continued. "How long did you dream?"

"What's this all of a sudden?" He implored, looking at her worried expression with concern of his own.

"It seems he's pained about growing up," Hungary took a step back, she could feel the pressure rising and it was going to make her cry. "His voice and body have rapidly changed, he's growing further away from what he used to be and he's worrying that the person he loves won't be able to recognize him anymore." She sobbed and covered her mouth, "the poor boy," she muttered deeply, "I can't bear to face him."

Austria understand, but yet he knew nothing he could say could comfort her. So he stepped closer and wrapped a gentle arm around her, offering but a shoulder to cry on instead.

* * *

Italy adjusted his tie in the mirror. He put his coat on and stared at the somber reflection looking back at him. There was nothing he had left to do at this point, and he couldn't stand to look at himself any longer. He turned away, placed his cap on and left through the front door. _I'm sure Germany will be angry, but I hate fighting and I hate arguments,_ he thought as he strolled down from the front steps into the street. _I want to be a peaceful country that renounces war. I don't want to cause pain and suffering for those around me._

_I've always thought it would be wonderful if everyone could be happy and have good fortune. I'm sure that kind of world could exist. _He pictured again his Germany. Battered and hurt, almost lifeless as he laid there. He hadn't woken up for Italy and it broke his heart. So he had made a choice.

_This time Germany was hurt protecting my house. It was really tough on me but at the same time I felt humiliated. My everyday lazy thoughts avoided it and Germany ended up getting hurt. When I first met Germany, I got a feeling I knew him from somewhere. I remembered a lot of things from the past, the happy memories of being saved and protected by him are so important to me._

_I don't want him to forget again._

_Once Germany gets better, I'll get my friendship kiss._

* * *

Spain walked into the bedroom, spotting Romano, he leaned against the door frame. "Has Italy gone home?"

"No idea," Romano said offhandedly. "Probably gone to be with that potato again." Spain frowned but turned away. Romano was in another one of his moods again, but Spain found it slightly endearing at the same time. As much as Romano spoke coldly about his misplaced feelings, Romano had them worse than anybody. He might not have showed it as much, but Romano worried every day about his brother. Spain liked that most about Romano, and even though he wouldn't try to explain it to him, Spain knew that it was exactly those kinds of emotions that made them who they are. That made them more than just countries, it made them alive and able to love and feel. Spain smiled to himself as he stepped down the hallway.

It was the best part of humanity in his opinion.

Towards the end of the city, Italy turned a corner and walked into a building. The inside was a single room, divided in half only by a large glass panel. On the other side of the glass sat a woman, tall and thin who paid no attention to him. He stepped up and knocked on the pane with a single finger. "Excuse me," he said firmly. "This is Italy Veneciano. I'm placing an immediate request for troops at this moment."

The woman said something and he shook his head.

"No, no back up please. This is a request for a solo mission."

_I will strike back,_ Italy thought to himself, _against the English army._


	4. Chapter Four

******Disclaimer: **'Hetalia' is copyright to creator Hidekaz Himaruya and 'Der Erste Stern' is copyright to creator Prinz/Yori. I do not own nor profit from this work of fiction or other.

An adaption of book IV

This is the last one, I hope everyone likes it. Thank you everyone for reading AND if anyone is interested, I just put up a PrussiaxGermany AU that needs a little attention. Okay. Going now.

* * *

Chapter Four.

* * *

Somewhere, in the depths of Germany's injured mind, he saw Italy. The boy was handsome, smiling and healthy. His skin glowed with the touches of summer and he was joyous, as usual. _I wonder how much suffering and despair is hidden behind that brilliant smile of his..._ It was a strange thought to have and soon he roused from his stupor. He blinked around, placed a hand to his head and realized he still had no idea where he lay.

It was daylight outside and around him were a thousand different shades green in the forms of grass, trees, flora and the dress of a little girl. "What?" Germany murmured to himself, noticing for the first time what he stood next to. A box that somewhat felt more like an open casket, lay in the center of the opening. Inside, nestled on a bed of flowers was a small girl that couldn't have been older than ten. Carefully, Germany reached out and placed a hand on her face. She wasn't cold. "She's breathing," he said in a sigh of relief. Leaning closer he placed a hand on her shoulder and shook slightly. "Hey, are you okay?" She didn't respond to his touch. Germany fell back on his knee and looked around. "Where am I? I'm sure I was searching for Italy..." He placed a hand to his head. He was bandaged, but he didn't bother asking why just then. "Italy..."

"Mhm," the small girl murmured. She blinked slowly and then sat up, wearing a worn expression on her young face.

"Hey! You're awake! What are you doing here?" Germany asked quietly as to not startle her. The girl stared blankly for a second before her features suddenly lit up.

"Who are you?" She asked in a pleasantly high voice.

"I'm Germany," he smiled. "I'm searching for Italy." He wasn't sure why he disclosed this information, a young girl would hardly know where he was, but for that matter, Germany himself didn't even know where _he_ was. The girl beamed, looking delighted.

"Really? I see!" She cupped her hands together, looking proud of herself. "You came looking for me. I've been trying my hardest to become a country for you."

"What do you mean?" Germany asked, he looked concerned. Nothing was making much sense.

"I cry for you, I get angry for you, I smile for you," the girl opened one eye and smirked. "Italy loves you very much." A sudden thought seem to occur to her and she jolted up to her knees, placing both her hands on Germany's cheek in a kind manner. She searched his eyes desperately. "What kind of country do you see Italy as? What is Italy to you?"

Germany looked back into her familiar eyes. They seemed warm, much like home. But he couldn't quite find the words for it. "To me..." he looked upwards at the clear, sunny day. "When I think about him like I am now, I realize I don't know anything about him," he said honestly. "He's the only one who has tried to understand me...but he doesn't really talk about himself. I don't know about his past or his memories...the meaning behind his never faltering smile or the reason he was crying." It dawned on him then, "I don't know a single thing about him."

A strange sensation came to life in his chest, something mixed with pain, regret, and a distant happiness. He leaned into the girls hand and smiled in a sad sort of way. "I think I might be scared. I have the feeling that as soon as I find out anything, Italy will only get even further away from me. And that lovely smile would be destroyed. My whole life was a series of never ending wars, all the countries around me hated me...but among all that, I have a single precious friend who smiles for me." He reconnected his gaze to the child's and he wasn't sure why, but the words seemed to flow from like he'd been longing to speak these thoughts for eternity. "I don't want to lose him yet, not like that."

The girl faltered, she looked over his face and her eyebrows pulled up. Her hands softly slipped from Germany's cheeks down to his shoulders where she gently brushed at his collar. "Please don't look so sad," she leaned forward until her chin was resting on his shoulder, and she leaned in closer as if she were afraid. "If you look sad I'm sure Italy will be sad as well."

The ground began shifting and the weight of the child slowly began to dissipate until Germany found himself blinking up at a blank ceiling. He groaned as he forced himself to sit up. "Where am I?" He looked down at his bandaged hand and felt up his face where the rest of the bandages sat. Looking around the room he found himself in an empty hospital room but to his left, on a small stool, sat an extravagant bouquet of roses and a small envelope.

* * *

Outside it had started raining, a pleasant kind of rain that had enticed Spain to open the windows to the house as he was cleaning. "I went too far before," Romano said quietly from the kitchen table. His head was down and he wasn't looking at anything in particular. "It's not like you were really being annoying or anything." Spain looked over curiously before smiling and returning to his dishes.

"Ah, don't worry about it." Spain replied calmly. Rain had that effect on him, and to be honest, he had hoped it would on Romano as well. "Some of what you said is true. Our destinies, being born as countries, it means we have to deal with a life of constant suffering." He put his dish down and looked over at the tempered boy with a deep, genuine care in his gaze. "But I'm so glad I met you Romano. Regardless of all this country stuff. I'm just so glad I met you."

* * *

His body trembled and his head was pounding through what felt like eight layers of bandages. But he couldn't stop, no, there was something so much bigger to be worried about. Germany ran as fast as he could down the street, despite the heavy down pour of rain and the tremendous clap of thunder rising overhead of him.

_I'm starving. It feels like some of my ribs are broken. The inside of my mouth tastes like blood, and mein gott, my head hurts._

But none of that mattered because somewhere out there, Italy was hurt and he needed to be saved.

* * *

"I can't believe you came here with such a trifling army," his voice was cold and calculated. "There was no other way this could have ended, honestly." Italy watched from where he lay on the floor as a pair of shiny boots stepped towards him gracefully. But this time, he didn't cower in fear. He lay on the floor, face bleeding and bruised with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I came because I wanted to talk to you," he replied quietly. "I knew from the start I was no match for you..." England stared down at him with an empty expression, his face too was bruised in small areas, a slight show that Italy had indeed tried his very best.

"What made you think I'd listen?" The man asked, he rustled his hand through his hair, looking rather bored.

"You're listening to me now aren't you?"

"Hey, this is cruel. Can't you-"

"No," Italy said firmly. He wiggled, fighting against the restraints that held his hand behind his back. With the wall behind him as leverage, he pushed his legs against the floor and sat up, wincing. "Why did you do that to Germany?" Italy asked, his breathing heavy and ragged.

"Because he was in your house." The English nation smirked, "is that what you want to hear?"

"No," Italy repeated. He closed his eyes and pulled his knees up. "Hey. What are you fighting for England?" Italy leaned over, he could feel the warm flow of blood dripping down his face. It wasn't a lot, but he was making a small mess still. England remained quiet, so Italy continued. "I'm so tired," he breathed out. "Take my right arm, take my left leg. I don't think it would upset me all that much.

_I'll never get used to this,_ England thought to himself. His expression grew dark and gloomy, and for a moment, he took pity on the young boy in front of him.

"All I've ever done is run away. Even now I'm trying to run away from the past. I'm scared of fighting. I'm scared of losing everything." Italy tilted his head back against the wall and blinked up, he didn't want to look at England so he settled for the ceiling. "Even if I win, someone will be unhappy. I don't care what happens to me, I just don't want anyone else to be unhappy. You know, I kind of hated being born as a country. Over the long years we lose things and we gain things, we have to watch the world change little by little."

England's gaze darkened and he stepped back. Hearing, in the distant pangs of years once lost, the small laugh of a child. A child whom he had loved more than anything in the entire world. And he realized with a visible tremor that the very child who haunted his past was the one who had at one time held a gun to him and demanded independence. A child who now stood on his own two feet without needing a goodnight story or a figure to look up to anymore. His chest tightened and he tried his hardest to shut out the sound of the small boy's voice calling back to him from the past.

"I wish it would all just stop at a time when we were happy..." Italy murmured.

"Shut up," England clutched at his uniform, he could hardly bear these phantoms any longer.

"Sometimes I wished I was human or an animal, then there'd be an end to it all." A faint smile touched at Italy's face. He was adjusting to the pain finally. "But Germany taught me I was wrong about that. We carry the past and memories with us, including those the transient beings-"

England stepped forward, placing a hard boot against Italy's already aching shoulder. He heard the familiar click of a pistol against the top of his head and he looked up into the hard eyes of the nation before him. "If you don't shut up now I'm going to put a bullet in your head." Italy remained quiet momentarily before he was forced to shut his eyes. The frustration of the situation had unnerved him.

"What about you?!" He suddenly cried out. "You've regretted losing things too haven't you!" Italy felt the pistol push farther into his scalp before England let out a small humorless laugh and stepped back. He put the gun back into its holster and grabbed a small bowl of cherries before sitting down cross legged in front of a startled Italy.

"I won't listen to you wax lyrical about him," England said hotly. He grabbed a cherry and dangled it from between his fingers. "I just want to know about you. Why are we fighting as enemies, why do we both have painful memories."

Italy gave him a small glare, "I'm still mad about what you did to Germany."

England smirked and shook his head. "You've got balls saying that considering you're the one tied up." He shook the cherry and raised it. "Here." Italy eyed it warily before the other rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Don't be so suspicious. I didn't cook it, it's safe to eat." With the untrusting expression still on his face, he leaned forward slowly and took the cherry with his mouth. England closed his eyes and for the first time seemed to relax. "Countries are inherently selfish. But when I look at you I feel stupid for fighting."

A loud clatter suddenly had both countries startled. Italy looked up with horror painted upon his features and England look over his shoulder, hand drawn over his gun and his eyes dark and angry. "Italy!" Germany exclaimed from the doorway, he was soaking wet, visibly shaking and looked ghostly.

England stood up, pulling the gun out and wearing a haughty grin. "You're late. I was getting sick of waiting. Don't move." England laughed slightly, looking down on the worn down state his enemy was in. "Are you crazy coming here without a weapon?"

"Germany!" Italy cried out, he struggled against his restraints, ignoring the impulses of pain that were cutting into him.

"If you beg for you life, I'll make it quick." England said lowly, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"No! Stop!" Italy was next to screaming. He struggled hard until his eyes were unwilling streaming tears. He looked up, watching England raise his pistol to point it straight at Germany. Italy cried out again but he couldn't hear his voice. He was being swallowed up by the effects of a life flashing before his eyes. He saw flags marching in many aisles, a young, familiar blonde boy who looked older, smarter, but sadder still.

_The feeling of loving someone for the first time. Emotions that will never change. I knew the end would come eventually but still, I wonder...why did I let go of his hand back then. Nothing last forever, you'd have to be deluded to think it does. Things change little by little and before you know it, they've become something entirely different. If you scramble for happiness you get dragged down in despair and suffering. The original meaning is lost..._

In his mind, he sees the boy, cradled by a soldier who is looking down on him with a look Italy had seen many times before in the tragedy of war. This boy was dead. His eyes bruised and pale, his hair strewn across his forehead and matted with dirt and blood. It was unfair.

_...we know that but we keep fighting against fate. We lose sight of our original goal._

And then Italy sees something he didn't expect. He sees that same boy, lying in a hospital bed looking pitifully lost. He's bandaged and sore but he stares out at something that isn't quite there. "But I want to promise that these feelings are the one thing that won't change." The same soldier that only moments ago was holding him dear looks down on him from a stool. The soldier is pale, strikingly so, but wears such a carefully guarded expression it's difficult to tell what he's truly thinking.

"You shouldn't talk anymore, it's bad for your health," he only says quietly.

"I don't have much left," the young boy continues, "but the least I can do is tell her how I feel." The soldier remains quiet this time, and the boy smiles at the warmth of something he's recalling. "My beloved...I loved her." He closes his eyes and very quietly begins to sing. "The first star in the night sky, gently shines down on you. It's still watching over you today. I wish with all my might that you will be happy, my beloved, the first star in the night sky gently shines down on you...Even if you never know it, even if you never know it...Italy."

Then the scene changes, and Italy is looking at himself. A young boy in a young girl's dress. Italy is standing in an open clearing, where the stars shine shamelessly down. "Holy Roman Empire...please smile Holy Roman Empire! There are so many things I want to tell you, so many that I could never get through them all! The roses in the garden are in bloom and I watch the stars from there in winter." Italy recalled painfully this conversation. Often times when he found himself lost, he'd go out to the clearing, under the clarity of a million stars, and he'd talk to the only boy who'd ever loved him. This wasn't a life flashing before his eyes, no, it was a memory.

"Today I listened to Mr. Austria play on the piano, and I did all the cleaning. Everyday I make sweets with Ms. Hungary, and I'm getting better at it!" The young Italy looked down, but continued on. "There are so many things I want you to try. They built a bridge over the river we swam in, a lot of people live near it. It's always busy there, everyday it's like there's a festival going on. But since you left, Holy Roman Empire, the days and the years have been so long. Why is that, why..." and before he can finish, Italy burst into tears. _It may go for a little bit, but the fear and loneliness always come again. How can I miss you this much?_

Once again Italy see's the hospital room. The soldier is quiet, he looks onwards with an air of respect around him as the blonde boy carries on. "Italy...there's not a single day I don't think about you."

Italy remembers a moment, when the sun was high and the air was warm. It was only him and Holy Roman Empire sitting out in the meadow. "I don't think drawings are good or bad," little Italy remarks. He holds a pencil to his canvas and smiles. "If you draw what's in your heart you can make a wonderful picture. Hey," he says, turning to face the small boy in the black coat. "Why do you want to be good at drawing anyways?"

"I-I have something I want to draw," he replies back nervously.

"Something you to draw? What is it?"

"It's a secret!" Holy Roman Empire cries out, clutching the canvas to his chest. Little Italy brings the pencil up to his mouth, thinking.

"If you ever draw it, will you let me see it?" Holy Roman Empire looks slightly dazzled, but he slowly nods.

"Okay."

The memory begins to ebb away and somewhere in his consciousness, Italy reaches a hand out to try to bring it back. He wants it to stay, he wants to live inside that moment for as long as he can. But it's slipping and he feels a deeper pain within him.

_When I shook your hand and we parted ways, I knew I probably wouldn't see you again. But I never really accepted that. My memories stop there. Right up until the very end I wanted to see you...I always wanted to see you._

_I love you, I'll always love you._

It's then a heaviness weighs down on Italy. He stirs, feeling something rough and firm beneath him, he opens his eyes. "Germany?!" Looking around, he's being carried on Germany's back and a strange sense of time overwhelms him.

"Italy? Are you okay? Can you stand?" Italy nodded and Germany gently lowered him to stable ground. Facing him, Germany looked so worried. He placed a hand against Italy's cheek. "Are you in pain anywhere?"

Italy stalled, taken aback by the moment before he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Germany's shoulders. "I'm okay." Nuzzling in deeper, he inhaled. "Thank you for saving me." And slowly, Italy withdrew himself, he looked up at Germany and smiled. "Good morning Germany."

"Good morning." Germany looked away, when he finally spoke again there was a strange edge to his voice. "England's a good guy." Italy shut his eyes. He remebered a gun pointed upwards, a finger held tight over a trigger and then suddenly, the loud shot of a bad aim. The bullet hit the wall opposite Germany.

_"When I look at you, I lose all will to fight," England said quietly. "I was sleeping. You came to save him and you escaped without a trace. I didn't see anything, got it?" Germany nodded._

_"Right."_

The blonde man tilted his head back down, looking over the much smaller man in front of him with a depth in his eyes that alluded to something like love. "You collapsed so suddenly, it gave me a fright-"

"I'm sorry," Italy said with a sigh of relief. "Look, we're both pretty beaten up." He smiled and took Germany's hands before him, looking over his bandages he continued on quietly, "we match..." And though Italy wasn't looking at Germany, the latter's eyes couldn't turn away from the gentle boy before him.

"...Italy." And then without much warning, Germany threw his arms around the boy. He buried his face into the crook of Italy's shoulder. "How many times are you going to do something reckless and make me angry before you learn your lesson!" Germany tried to sound stern but his voice shook. Italy only laughed.

When Germany pulled away, Italy averted his soft gaze upwards. "Hey, Germany." But Italy couldn't hold his view much longer and he gave in to the temptation of looking back at the ground. A rush of an ancient sadness suddenly beheld him. "My biggest mistake was trying to take revenge for you. I hate it when you do those kind of things. But if I did that, I knew that you would be sad and all alone...just like I used to be." He turned towards the field he stood in, close to Germany's house. He had always liked this view. So vast and wide, just like the fields Holy Roman Empire and him used to play in. "No one can be happy," he said softly. "The important thing was staying by his side. Not being separated from that person I loved." Germany understood that he wasn't the subject of Italy's despair any longer. "When one of us got hurt we both would be hurt, and in times of sadness we would both be sad. I wish we could have been together and smiled, all beat up, when we lost." Italy had become so wound in his words, he barely noticed that the sky had darkened and a light rain had begun to fall. "Rather than win and lose one of us, I want to lose and smile together. It feels like we've been separated for the longest time. I've always wondered why I didn't go with him back then, but now I think it was so I could meet you." A small smile touched at his lips. "I can't repeat those painful things anymore. It felt like God was angry at me-"

Germany placed a hand to his head, shaking it slightly. "What are you talking about? I can only understand about half of it...I'm no match for you." He smiled, "I'm always in a hurry but if I turn back, there you are smiling happily...your smile saved me you know."

Italy turned around, faced his partner and blinked. And then he stepped closer. "You know, i understood it when you said it. Germany is Germany and I'm me. There was never anyone here from the start, you can't be someone else and you can't take someone elses place." He looked at his hands, bloody and worn. Just like Germany's hands were. "But you're right here in front of me, you're moving and living. That's the most important thing to me now. It's my greatest happiness. I'm sure it's not just me, all of us who were born as countries don't leave out pasts behind us. We don't bury our painful memories. Instead..." Italy clutched his dirty hand shut and pulled it in close to his chest. He was feeling something new now, a kind of peace that hadn't been there before. He wanted to swallow it all and let it grow into something permanent. "The past and the present are united in me, that's why I think my happiness now is so precious. There's the boy I loved, and my favorite place. And because I'm not alone we can chat like this..." He let his hand fall and he looked over to Germany, whom was now standing much closer. Italy reached his hand out and gently, Germany took it in his own. "...and hold hands and smile together!" Italy beamed and while Germany stared, awed and slightly dazed, he smiled too.

"Ah!" Italy said suddenly. With his other hand he pointed up at the sky. "There's the first star! Night's already here...and the rain's stopped!"

"Italy?" The boy looked over, into the bright blazing blue of Germany's eyes. The blonde man was close, his face calm and gentle, much different from the serious mask he often wore. It was a sudden breath of fresh air in Italy's lungs as Germany leaned in, "a kiss for friendship." And with that, he cast one last gentle look at Italy and he closed his eyes. Italy smiled and leaned back, his lips pressed against Germany's and he reeled inwardly.

He was so warm.

When their kiss broke, Germany smiled and Italy laughed. He was next to crying but he knew then that the peace within him had finally come to stay. And that kiss, for the first star in the night sky, had made it all possible.


End file.
